


Alberic the Blond and the Snake Lady

by Kelfin



Category: Prince Alberic and the Snake Lady
Genre: F/F, F/M, Other, Poetry, Thinly veiled Fin de siècle lesbianism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-30
Updated: 2008-12-30
Packaged: 2018-01-06 04:55:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1102671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kelfin/pseuds/Kelfin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Luna's princelet opened sleepy eyes on a rocky island where no man had been.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alberic the Blond and the Snake Lady

**Author's Note:**

> This fragment of a story is based on "Prince Alberic and the Snake Lady" (1896) by Vernon Lee, which tells the story of Alberic the Blond's descendant, also named Alberic. The form is a modified Onegin Stanza.
> 
> Vernon Lee's work often contains "male" characters with stereotypically feminine characteristics and, thereby, "heterosexual" relationships with (probably intentional) lesbian overtones. I'll leave it to you to decide whether Alberic the Blond is really a boy.

Luna's princelet opened sleepy eyes on  
a rocky island where no man had been.  
He was all alone, his sacred prize on  
his sunken ship along with all his men.  
Lifting up his face from the forgiving  
sand, he brushed it from his eyes, from living  
and lively yellow curls, and looked around.  
A cold, transparent river split the ground  
into two and fed the sea. He, bending,  
from the unsampled stream took heart and drank.  
He followed it along its mossy bank,  
wandering for hours through woods and mending  
his spirit in the fields through which he passed,  
but found no sign of human life. At last,  
in the pleasant afternoon, he stumbled  
upon a berry patch that scratched the backs  
of his gentle hands each time he fumbled  
inside it, gathering the reds and blacks  
that shone bright as jewels. He persisted:  
total victory, to him, consisted  
in ignorance of pain. Besides, the prince  
did not know what was safe to eat here, since  
he had never been allowed to wander  
at home among the gardens or been taught  
to feed himself on roots. His sword was not  
useful for the hunt. He stopped to ponder  
his fate and make his plans beneath a tree;  
on soft, green grass he slumbered soundlessly.  
  
After days, he came upon a forest,  
untouched and denser, darker, tangled more  
than the prince had yet seen. Screeching chorused  
with croaks of dreadful night-birds when he bore  
down on limbs with iron-gloved fists like boulders  
and they broke apart. With knees and shoulders  
he forced a path; he trampled underbrush;  
then roaring as from stripe-skinned tiger plush  
or of lions came. He grasped with pity  
his two-edged sword and hewed the interlaced  
and twisted branches; the resulting waste  
filled with sobs as from a vanquished city.  
The Knight of Luna asked the wood to stop  
its anguish, begged forgiveness with each chop.  
"But," the boy insisted, "I continue,  
for I must get to Reynold, set him free  
from the force that binds him, bone and sinew,  
with wild embraces clasp him close to me,  
go with him to Sparkling Water Castle,  
and her, to whom I am but a vassal,  
await with him beside the mossy well.  
I will go on, for in this tangled hell  
I can sense a fearsome, wondrous power  
that surely rules; I'll conquer all his might  
as I am surely sworn to do--for I'm a knight--  
make him take me home." Our flower,  
undaunted, cut his way into the wood.  
  
Behold! Before the prince, a castle stood,  
lordly, as if some great Duke might rule it,  
upon a plain between two running streams.  
Silent rose the portcullis; lights, too, lit  
as though by unseen hands. As in his dreams,  
the enchanted drawbridge lowered, splintered;  
fifes and bugles sounded as he entered,  
but nowhere could he see a single wight  
to do these things as living humans might.  
Alberic went in and found a stable,  
storerooms full of arms, and chambers spread  
with heavy, velvet covers on each bed.  
In the banquet hall, an oaken table  
was steaming, savory. A giant chair  
stood at the table's head. A cup was there,  
full of wine that flushed his pale complexion  
the moment that he sipped. A calming voice  
called his name with welcoming inflection.  
An unseen chorus begged to sing his choice  
of motet, and viols played. He quickly  
sat, and as he did, the unseen, tickly,  
invisible hands filled his plate with sweets,  
caressing him. He laughed and swung his feet  
from his perch and drank more than was clever.  
When he was full, he faced the nearest ghost  
and drank the health and fortune of his host.  
"I will be your faithful slave forever!"  
he swore in fervid gratefulness and laid  
his hand upon his sword. He stood and swayed  
on his feet, then blushed at his condition  
and sought to lie upon the marble floor  
in the many carpets. In this mission  
he failed; the shining armor that he wore  
was unbuckled; pieces of his clothing  
were removed. He blushed with guilty loathing  
for his unfinished body. Silken robes  
were given him. Uncomfortable with proves  
from unseen attendants, he turned shyly  
and dressed himself. They led him to a couch  
of velvet, strewn with roses. With a slouch  
almost unbecoming him, he dryly  
yawned thankful words again for all the help.  
Musicians played; a furry, cold-nosed whelp  
snuggled underneath his elbow. Sleeping  
was all the prince could think of, so he slept.  
  
When he woke, the setting sun was creeping  
behind the trees. In panic, up he leapt.  
It had been at least two evenings, surely,  
since he'd gone to sleep, for he was purely  
and fully energized. He checked his face:  
the mirror said he hadn't aged. The pace  
of his heartbeat slowed, and he hovered  
at it and saw his pupils and therein  
the glorious Baronage he hoped to win.  
Buckling on his armor, he discovered  
he needed help from all those gentle hands  
that haunted him and pressed him for demands  
to obey. and after he was fully  
attired, they hung upon his shapely thigh  
such a sword as he was loathe to sully  
with blood, for it was perfect. With a sigh  
of unhidden longing, he refused it,  
asking for his old sword. "You abused it,"  
replied the voices, "cutting through the wood.  
Refusing gifts like this one when our Good  
Lady offers them is disallowing  
her hospitality." Then Alberic  
the Blond turned paler, wounded to the quick  
by his rudeness. Penitent and bowing,  
he took the sword the voices bid him take.  
 _My name is Brillamorte. I serve the Snake_  
could be read upon its steel, imprinted  
by hands of worthy craftsmen long ago.  
Alberic was nervous, for it hinted  
at deviltry--for it is surely so  
that the snake has been Our Lord's opponent  
since the Fall of Eden, and atonement  
can come from turning from the serpent's maw--  
but Alberic had sworn. He set his jaw,  
thanked the hands, and said, "My Benefactress--  
I'd like to see her." No one answered him,  
so he explored the castle at his whim.  
  
There were rooms of jewels, masks an actress  
or actor might have worn in ancient Greece,  
uncounted piles of silver, bolts of fleece,  
silk brocade, and velvet, fragrant spices,  
undated golden vases, rarities  
from the Orient and Persia, ices  
of lemon taste and hue, and Charity's  
greatest gift to all youths under heaven:  
puppies wriggling, happy. There were seven  
full stables he could find, a rookery,  
of course a kitchen to learn cookery,  
falcons, fountains, marble statues, honey.  
Inside a tower, on its highest floor,  
he found a room like none he'd seen before.  
Treasures that could not be bought with money  
were there: the instruments that show the road  
at sea, a telescope, a magnet-lode,  
scrolls, and codices that held the knowledge  
of generations. Alberic, who could  
read but poorly, thought of boys at college  
and envied, sighing softly as he stood  
by the window, looking at the teeming  
land that stretched beneath him, seeming  
enchanted by the boy who watched above.  
If Alberic were not obliged by love  
to release his most adored companion,  
to once again behold his Lady's face,  
he'd choose to stay forever in this place.  
  
Looking down, he saw across a canyon  
an orchard, and to access it, a bridge  
was stretched across the canyon, ridge to ridge.  
All this was inside the castle's garden.  
The Knight of Luna hurried; he arrived  
just as dawn appeared. "I beg your pardon,  
O Lovely Orchard"--and the prince contrived  
to look innocent as dawn--"for truly,  
I should have come here first." And this was true;  
the light of fair Aurora flickered through  
apples, peaches, pears and plums, and even  
through oranges, the flowers and the fruits  
appearing both together. Bamboo shoots  
grew among narcissus. Surely Steven,  
within his glimpse of heaven, saw no sight  
as lovely as the orchard in the light  
of the morning. Holly leaves and roses  
grew up around the borders. In the trees,  
birds, more than the prince could count, in poses  
fair Venus taught them sang their songs to please  
every ear. Their hanging golden cages  
brought to mind the masterwork of ages  
long past. Not even Hercules, who killed  
the horrifying dragon and was skilled  
in the arts of war, found his gold apples  
in any garden half so sweetly laid.  
The most intriguing fountain ever made  
stood inside the very middle. Dapples  
of sunlight kissed it. It was in the form  
of naked maidens--twins--with eyes of storm,  
hair of dew and cobweb. Scented waters  
they poured from golden pitchers, and the girls  
were of silver, glistening like the daughters  
of river gods. The water came in whirls  
from the channels in the grass; the glancing  
of the light--and magic--set them dancing.  
  
And after Alberic had looked his fill  
upon this sight, he noticed in the still,  
silent grass a tree with almond flowers.  
Beneath it lay a sepulcher of white  
and creamy marble, carved and gilded, quite  
as a queen might lie in, if her powers  
could not save her from death. On it he read:  
 _Here is imprisoned on her holy bed  
Oriana, Fairy of the Golden Towers,  
the most unhappy of all fairy-kind,  
for she was condemned by jealous powers  
for doing nothing wrong. _ The prince's mind  
was confused, he thought, for as he'd spoken,  
the inscription changed like it had woken.  
 _O Knight of Luna_ , read the Sepulcher,  
 _O Alberic the valorous, the pure,  
if thou wouldst give thanks unto the hapless  
and faultless mistress of this castle, call  
for they undoubted courage; thou must fall  
on thy knees and swear that any sapless  
or fearsome monster, whatsoever it  
may be, that issues from my marble pit,  
thou wilt kiss on its mouth with passion  
three times, that Oriana may go free. _  
  
And Alberic drew Brillamorte, and he  
on its hilt--for such was then the fashion,  
since the hilt was like a cross--swore boldly.  
Sounds of thunder shook the deep, and coldly  
the clouds blocked out the sun. The castle walls  
were shaking. Alberic could feel her calls  
to his heart, so he pressed on. "I swear it!"  
he said again. The sepulcher's great lid  
upheaved, and from its damp-dank cavern slid  
such a great, green snake he could scare bear it.  
It wore upon its head a golden crown.  
The beast raised up its chin and stared him down,  
sliding, coiling quickly toward the frightened  
and screaming boy. He'd rather fight alone  
all the pagan host of unenlightened  
and heathen lands that Bohemund would own  
than to touch the serpent that was hissing  
there--and with his mouth! He'd pictured kissing  
a griffin or a mermaid, not a snake.  
He bit his rosy lips and tensed to take  
flight, for it was creepy and unholy,  
and reeked of Satan to his untaught nose,  
though it was lovelier than any rose,  
orange, or narcissus blossom: solely  
its beauty scared the boy, for he was brave  
enough to take whatever Nature gave.  
This was never Nature; it was magic,  
and Alberic recoiled as if it stung.  
It would be so dirty and so tragic  
to feel that thing upon his little tongue,  
in his little mouth, between his fingers,  
ponder in his flesh the way it lingers.  
  
The serpent saw the way his throat had caught,  
for Alberic could never hide his thought:  
his emotions flickered in his pupils  
for anyone to read. The snake stopped then  
and in its golden eyes were hanging, when  
Alberic looked closer, tears. His scruples  
and pity for the crying, lovely beast  
allowed him to relent, and as it ceased  
its encroachment, sadly falling prostate,  
the prince flew up and knelt with some alarm.  
Gathering his courage, the apostate  
put out a hand to touch it, fearing harm  
had been done to this poor creature, making  
it to cry, and it went swiftly snaking  
along his arm. He screamed with all his strength  
and moaned in terror as the scaly length  
twisted 'round his limbs. However, calming,  
he found the creature meant no harm to him;  
besides, its tears were streaming off the rim  
of its golden eyes like clear embalming  
or sacred oils. The snake began to moan  
with desperate keening noises of its own.  
  
"Oriana," whispered Luna's hero.  
He took the snake in both his arms and brought  
it near to his face. He thought of Nero,  
of Judas, and of Brutus, praying not  
to betray his oath in childish loathing  
for the snake's appearance--for, like clothing,  
the snake could surely shed her scaly skin.  
He gathered all the courage held within;  
thrice he pressed his lips, so warm and gentle,  
against the coldest, driest thing he'd felt,  
attempting not to curse the Fates that dealt  
such a destiny to him. His mental  
abilities were leaving him; his eyes  
fell closed like softened baby butterflies.


End file.
